


Something Better

by Goldy



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:11:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He’s beginning to understand why the Doctor’s done so much to hold onto her. Having Rose beam at him like he’s the only bloke in the entire universe who matters—nothing could be better.</i> Mickey POV, post GITF.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Better

  
She’s quiet as she takes him around the TARDIS. First few days he was onboard, she could barely contain herself, showing him everything she’d learned.

“The walls move sometimes. Gotta look out for that,” she says. And it sounds like she’s merely reciting the words from memory. Probably something the Doctor told her, back when she first started traveling with him.

“How’s it do that, then?”

She blinks dully at him, and gives a little shrug. “Doctor says that she’s alive. The TARDIS. That’s she’s a real, living… thing. That’s why we always hear English. ‘Cause she’s translating for us.”

“It’s _alive_?” he yelps.

Rose only blinks, and he wonders how she can _possibly_ be so glib about it all. But then, if the bloody thing can travel through time, should it really surprise him that it’s a living thing?

“TARDIS wouldn’t ever hurt us,” Rose says, but her tone is accusing. She looks down at the floor, and Mickey can tell she’s holding back tears.

Oh, god, he doesn’t want this to have to be him.

“Rose—”

She shakes her head, but then buries her face on the crook of his shoulder, hands grabbing his arm.

“Mickey, he _left_ me—us,” she says, and then she turns her face to look at him, hair brushing along his neck. “Just like… like it didn’t matter.”

He tries to get his tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth. He almost feels like throwing it back in her face, saying: _Yeah, guess you weren’t so special after all. Is this the sort of bloke you want to keep traveling with? Someone who’d up and leave you on a planet millions of years in the future without so much as a good luck?_

He doesn’t say any of that.

Instead, he combs his fingers through her hair and says, “He must’ve had a plan, Rose. It’s the Doctor.”

Her response is a small snort, and she presses her face against his shoulder again. He can feel hot tears soaking through to his skin.

He wonders if he ever hurt her badly enough to make her cry like this.

He suspects the answer is ‘no,’ and wishes it didn’t make him feel completely worthless.

“Come on, Rose,” he says. “You said it yourself… TARDIS is alive, yeah? She would’ve taken us home.”

Rose pulls away with a look that tells him he clearly doesn’t get it. Wordlessly, she wipes her tears, forces a smile, and then walks away.

***

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to realize she’s using him.

When he finds out, he wants to be furious. Except he knows she’s not doing it on purpose. She’s not cruel, his Rose, never was—never could be. But she’s doing it all the same; using him.

It’s her arm through his while they’re in the console room. Her head pillowed on his shoulder when she knows the Doctor’s watching. She reaches for his hand first when they pile out of the TARDIS; grins at him when they see something new.

He’s beginning to understand why the Doctor’s done so much to hold onto her. Having Rose beam at him like he’s the only bloke in the entire universe who matters—nothing could be better.

The Doctor shoots them odd (occasionally wounded) looks, but never says anything. Never. It’s like he’s waiting for things to settle back to normal, for Rose to get over the episode in France and go back to worshipping his every move. He babbles and escorts them out the door, grabs his coat off the hook, goes first, reaches for Rose’s hand, and turns away when she grabs Mickey’s instead.

If he’s talking a little too fast and Rose looks a little too subdued then Mickey’s not going to be the one to say anything. Their problem. Not his.

***

It doesn’t take long for the Doctor to snap.

The dam breaks when they rescue her from a native clan on the planet Zimaraveroo. Instead of hugging the Doctor (who Mickey does admit did most of the work, including rescuing _him_ from nearly getting swallowed whole by a live vine), she throws herself into Mickey’s arms and barely mutters a quick thanks to the Doctor.

“Oh, come _on_!”

And he looks furious, more furious than Mickey’s ever seen him. The Doctor looks at him like he’s gone and trashed the TARDIS, like he’s stolen his favourite blanket and won’t give it back.

Rose pulls away, confusion on her face, and Mickey thinks, _oh, god, she really doesn’t know what she’s been doing._

The Doctor sees it, too, and reigns in his frustration. Instead, he reaches for her hand and says, “I meant… come on. This way. Right.”

Rose glances back, but the Doctor’s gaze is plain. If he dares get in the way, he can move out of the TARDIS first thing. He’ll be left stranded on this planet, with only the man-eating Zimaraveroo clan for company.

So he clears his throat and says, “No, you two go on. Just… got to tie my shoe.”

Rose lets the Doctor pull her away, their fingers entwined. Mickey resists the urge to call her back.

He bends down. The ground is wet and swampy and littered with spears and sticks. He can see red spiders crawling around in the mud. He goes through the motion of tying up his shoes, trying to ignore the burning in his eyes.

It seems safe enough to follow, and so he does, trailing behind—just by a few steps. They don’t turn back.

The Doctor and Rose reach a valley. Mickey creeps forward enough to see what they’re looking at. There’s a river, winding through the mountains. Overhanging the river are hundreds of tiny blinking lights, thick enough to be a blanket.

Rose leans forward, going to the edge of the cliff, still holding the Doctor’s hand. “Oh, my god, what are they?”

The Doctor doesn’t look away from her face, like she’ll disappear if he blinks. “They’re fireflies.”

“I’ve seen fireflies, Doctor,” she says. “They don’t look anything like that.”

“ _Well_ , these are… Zimaraveroo fireflies, and… it’s mating season.” He watches her closely, obviously holding his breath. “They come out every five years to find a partner. One day every five years. Can you imagine? Your only purpose in life.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Rose whispers.

A small grin tugs at the corner of the Doctor’s mouth, and there’s a shine of victory in his eyes. “Yeah?”

She turns around to look at him, her beam like a warm blanket. “Yeah. That’s amazing.”

The Doctor’s grin is blinding. “I thought you’d like that.”

And he’s practically _bouncing_. Giddy, like he’s just discovered a brand new world.

Rose laughs, and tightens her grip on his hand.

Mickey wants to smack him. Going to all that trouble to be the center of her universe again, when all that time he’d never _stopped_. He’s not even capable of apologizing. Just easier to pretend nothing happened. Take Rose new places, impress her, win her back—all in a day’s work if you’re a Time Lord.

The Doctor pulls Rose in for a hug. He can hear them giggling and poking at each other, and Mickey hopes the Doctor’s gotten what he wanted.

Certainly seems like it, because they turn back around, vague surprise registering when they find him there. There’s mud squishing between his toes, under his fingernails, ears—and he knows how he must look, standing there with his mouth hanging slightly agape, jealous eyes watching them closely.

“Mickey!” says the Doctor, and he’s cheerful again. “Did you see the fireflies?”

Mickey holds his gaze, and finally manages a terse nod. “Yeah, they were really… swell.”

They barely listen to his answer, only walk on past him, talking animatedly, half their sentences starting with, “Do you remember when we…?” and going on to the next one without waiting for an answer.

Mickey trails slowly behind them, kicking mud up in front of him. It’ll never be him. Not again. (Not that she ever looked at him like she looks at the Doctor. Like he went and hung the moon. Like he’s discovered the cure for cancer.)

It’s never been so obvious. That the Doctor could just… leave them… leave Rose like he did, and to have her forgive him so quickly—he can’t do nothing about that. He can’t even _begin_ to try and get between them.

He glances back at the fireflies dancing over the valley. For the first time, he wonders. There’s got to be something out there for him. Something better.  



End file.
